Method

Asha Mirabell.

Protagonist of the dark fantasy novel Babylonia, and the other of the two on whom the quest had been laid — the Hero, meant to save the world together with the Emperor.

If she had to be defined in a single line—

She was strong. Horrifyingly strong.

While he was going over the novel, the phrase somewhere around S-rank had papered over the details, and he hadn't truly understood. Then he checked the setting book.

She was not somewhere around S-rank. She was SSS-rank, a height that left S-rank hopelessly far below.

By my measure, right now, the strongest pack I can think of is Black Wolf — and their average is S-rank. The gap between ranks was no different from weight classes in a fight. If Asha was a heavyweight champion at 120 kilograms, the members of Black Wolf were champions two classes down: middleweight, 84 kilograms. Of course, the original described Black Wolf's leader, Nahan, as Ex-rank, the very peak of the world. But that was the Nahan inside the story. The man he was now had climbed into a tank without knowing how to start it, and until he learned to run the thing properly, he was no match for Asha.

Which meant that if anyone found out he was the Black Wolf, leader of Black Wolf, his head would leave his shoulders before he had time to resist.

All right. A problem, then.

"Are you listening? A prayer for the child who has gone, and a confession. Can you do it?"

Face to face with the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠greatest enemy in the original, what attitude was the proper one to show?

The correct answer was simple.

"I will pray."

Shut up, do every damn thing they ask, and get them out of the hideout fast.

Fortunately, he'd already swallowed the original and the setting book whole. To play at being clergy, he called up a scene of Black Wolf's first member — the fanatic, Peter.

The instant the scene surfaced, he was certain of it.

This bastard's a cultist.

So that was why the epithet Fanatic sat plastered right beside the name. He'd only called the memory up in search of a line worth using, and had very nearly gotten himself condemned a heretic and killed.

"......?"

He had been kneeling in silence for some thirty seconds, and Asha, too, was beginning to wonder.

He dredged up a memory that fit a little better, put on the priest, and opened his mouth.

"Our Mother, who art in heaven — this day, too—"

"Oh. Has your mother passed?"

"......I was speaking of the Goddess. Please be still, and attend to the prayer."

"Pardon me."

She had cut him off at the very first line, but once his mouth was open the rest came pouring out.

"Hestia Gardner. For that young soul, a light that will not go out. Rest without a single speck of darkness."

He prayed, and through barely opened eyes he looked.

"......"

A woman kneeling in silence, calm and clear as a crystal of vivid blue ice. At first she had seemed faintly suspicious. Now she had given herself over entirely, and was praying as if she believed.

Even so, the one across from him was the Hero — Black Wolf's greatest enemy.

He had no idea why she had come back a full three days earlier than in the original, but the water was already spilled. He had to hide who he was with everything he had.

Ian Red, wasn't it? A distant relative of Ruby Red, branch chief of the Mercenary Alliance in the capital. The setting had him fleeing his family as a child, escaping the disaster, surviving, and later becoming a free priest. If there was a difference between this and the roles he was already playing — Black Wolf, or Yellow Dragon — it was that Ian Red existed only as a rough frame. The fine detail had never been written. Which meant he would not be acting out a character already made. He would have to build the character himself, and then play him.

Thought of that way, running into the Hero now was actually a piece of luck. If he made a character she liked and played him well, he could tie a thread between them, meet her from time to time, and listen for whatever she knew.

So. Think.

There were any number of reasons one person was drawn to another. Love, friendship, money, fame, learning, teaching. He had never held a single one of them.

"Hyung! You say it like that and it hurts my feelings, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you know?"

......Right.

Maybe, without ever noticing, he had come to hold one after all.

In any case, he had drifted through every kind of place — an orphanage and a shelter, a factory dormitory and the barracks of a demolition site, a gang's lodgings and a bodyguard's quarters, the army — and what those years had taught him was this: a person cannot help but be drawn to whoever can fill what they lack.

And that—

Even a Hero can't be so very different.

He called up the original, and the setting book.

The Radiant Hero, Asha Mirabell. A commoner out of the backwater village of Mirabell, chosen by the Goddess Aria and made a Hero. Because of a certain incident, the status ailment Disbelief was permanently active, and she all but never showed what she felt.

And he was the only outsider in this world who knew what that incident had been.

So he could predict it.

The moment the prayer ends, Asha will cancel the confession and leave.

If you knew what someone lacked, you could fill it and win their favor. He closed his eyes and wrote a setting onto the character.

Like the days under that domineering orphanage director, when ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he had been at his most obedient. Like the time he had taken a knife in place of the big brother — head of what had been the finest organization in Seoul, a man who could not trust anyone.

All he had to do was play, exactly, the sort of person Asha had longed for — and quietly, little by little, fill a lack that even Asha herself did not know she carried.

"That concludes the prayer."

She wasn't truly dead in any case. He wrapped the prayer up roughly and lifted his head, and Asha opened her eyes and lifted hers as well. No tears, no sorrow — only a cold motion, as if she were copying what others did because they did it. She rose without so much as a small sigh, opened those blue eyes upon him, and spoke.

"We will leave the confession for another time."

The reaction he had expected.

And because the prediction had struck true, he could fix one hypothesis in place.

Radiant Hero. Emotionless Empress. Destruction Doll. Titles of that sort.

The trait called emotionless was famous enough that the whole continent knew it. But Asha Mirabell was not without feeling.

If anything, she had more of it than anyone who appeared in Babylonia.

That she kept to a blank face was neither an inborn flaw nor some magic or curse acquired later. It was a thick defense, built for her own sake.

Then what sort of person would Asha be drawn to most?

The question had barely formed before the keywords crowded up.

Gentle. Tight-lipped. Steadfast. Strong before the strong, and endlessly weak before the weak. Equal toward everyone. Compassionate without end.

Good. This is the one.

He called the original and the setting book to mind once more, and at last finished every setting that belonged to the character named Ian Red.

And with that, the third stage manifested.

Before he could even tell what had changed, his body moved on its own.

"Might I impose, just for a moment?"

A question that was not waiting for an answer.

"No. I am going to impose, just for a moment."

For some reason his heart ached. He added the words in a rush and stepped in close to Asha.

And he held her.

Barely swallowing tears that felt ready to spill at any moment, he wrapped his arms gently around the girl who had endured everything alone.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Yes. I'm not entirely sure myself.

But one thing, at least, was certain.

"......Please don't cry."

Radiant Hero. Asha Mirabell. I hope you don't cry anymore.

A moment later—

"......The one crying is you, is it not?"

The girl in his arms slowly buried her face against his shoulder.